This story is set after the episode "The Best of Both Worlds", and
deals with Q's guilt over having thrown Picard into a situation
where he became Locutus, and Picard's own personal problems with
having been Locutus. It's set during the episode, "Family", with
Picard's visit to his brother in France.
This story is available via FTP at ftp.europa.com, in the directory
/outgoing/mercutio/alt.fan.q, or via the WWW at
http://www.europa.com/~mercutio/Q.html.
Open SesaQ by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)
Picard was lying on his bed, not wanting to move much at all. He
knew he had to, but that was eventually, not now. Right now he
didn't have to do much of anything at all. He had only recently
been rescued from his stay as Locutus of Borg, an experience which
he had no desire to repeat. Ever. For a time, he had thought he
would never be anything else, and with as little of his self as he
had possessed at the time, he had raged against that. However, the
Federation had rescued him, and had won the battle, and Picard had
been freed to do whatever he liked.
Which in this case seemed to be a very long leave while he sorted
out his affairs and tried to decide whether he even wanted to stay
in Starfleet.
Picard fumbled for the book he'd left lying on a table next to the
bed, but didn't watch what he was doing, and consequently sent a
small vase flying.
It hit the ground with a ominous cracking sound, and Picard felt
guilty that he'd broken such a fragile, delicate object.
He looked over the side of the bed to see how badly it was broken.
The vase was cracked right down the middle. And even as he watched
it, he saw smoke issuing out of it.
Smoke?
There shouldn't be smoke coming out of a vase. But there was.
Pastel colored smoke swirling up almost to the ceiling, solidifying
into a figure... a very familiar looking figure, even if the lower
half of his body was still smoke coming up out of the smashed
remnants of the vase.
"Q," Picard acknowledged with a weary sigh. "I thought I'd seen
the last of you. Or didn't losing your powers teach you anything?"
"Au contraire, mon capitaine. They're still apologizing to me over
that dreadful outfit you forced me to wear. Quite a fashion
nightmare." Q shuddered melodramatically. "And worst of all, no
one will ever let me forget about it. That image will be on book
covers and trading cards for decades even though it's completely
uncharacteristic of my usual taste."
Q's words made no sense to Picard, and he disregarded them. "What
do you want, Q? I assume you have some reason for this...
*bizarre* method of appearance."
"Oh, I do, I do. I've come to offer you three wishes, Jean-Luc."
"Fine. I wish that you'd leave, and never come back."
Q shook a reproving finger at him. "No, no, no, Jean-Luc. You
can't wish that. I *could* go away, but you'd still have two more
wishes, and I'd only have to come back to fulfill them. And I'm
much too good of a friend to let you waste your good fortune that
way."
"That's a matter of opinion."
Q ignored him. "So what do you want? Material wealth? Power?
Lovely ladies?" He bent down a little, and Picard could see the
gold earring flashing in his ear. "Or perhaps a little revenge
against the Borg?"
That hit far too close to home, and Picard snapped, "Go away, Q.
I'm not going to wish for anything. There's nothing that I need or
want other than a good long rest somewhere where *you* aren't.
And--" he added, before Q could say anything or take his statement
as a wish and deposit him on a deserted planet somewhere in the
Delta Quadrant, "I was already enjoying that, thank you very much."
Q didn't seem dismayed. He clapped his braceleted hands together.
"I suppose I'll have to give you a tour of the possibilities then."
"No! Wait--"
But it was too late. The bed was left empty, blankets ruffled, a
book lying face down, as if dropped there, and a broken vase on the
floor.
****
Picard found himself lying on a beach chair, with the hot sun
beating down on him. It was a very relaxing vista; without moving
his head, he could see that he was on a beach running down to the
ocean. There were other people out enjoying the sunshine, many of
them as gaily clad or unclad as if this were Risa. All in all, it
was an idyllic situation.
He sat upright, ignoring the beauty around him and addressed the
empty air. "Q! Stop this at once."
"Oh, don't be so stodgy, Jean-Luc," a voice said from beside him.
"Live a little."
Picard swivelled to see Q reclining on a lounge next to him. The
omnipotent entity was still posing as a genie, naked to the waist,
bronze bracelets on either wrist and clad in flimsy silk trousers.
On the table between them were two iced lemonades, and as Picard
watched, Q picked one of them up and started sipping.
"I do live," Picard said testily. "I just don't see what the point
of all this is..."
"Point? Who needs a point?" Q gestured grandiosely, and a young
woman took that as an invitation, starting towards them, giggling.
"Life's about having *fun*, Jean-Luc. *Live*-ing. Don't you ever
examine the roots of your words?"
"You have no idea what you're talking about, Q," Picard began,
tightly. "You threw us into the situation with the Borg. *None*
of that would have happened if it weren't for you. There was no
need for those people to die, no need for..." he broke off then,
realizing he was about to say, "no need for me to suffer". He was
blaming Q for a good deal more than the entity had had any control
over, and it was starting to occur to him *why* that was.
But Q didn't seem to be listening to Picard's fine arguments. The
young woman was standing next to him, and he said something to her
which made her giggle again.
Q looked sidewise at Picard, half his attention on the girl. "You
were saying something droll about your failure to deal with the
Borg being my fault when you so rudely interrupted me."
"Oh, no, please carry on," Picard said as sarcastically as he could
manage. "Don't let me stop you." He laid back in a huff and
closed his eyes, pretending not to pay any attention to Q. If he
really concentrated, he could almost pretend this wasn't happening.
Almost.
"Jealous?" A weight settled itself on the edge of his lounge
chair, and Picard tried determinedly not to open his eyes. "You
don't have to be, Jean-Luc. After all, I did promise to gratify
three of your wishes, no matter how deliciously sordid they might
be."
His eyes snapped open on that. "I don't want anything like that,
Q. I wish this had never happened, that I had never met you, that
none of this had ever happened!"
"Granted! Oh, this is going to be *so* much fun."
Picard closed his eyes and moaned. This day had been *far* too
long already. Why had he ever bothered waking up?
****
The beach disappeared and time splintered. Picard was not there,
and he was everywhere in his life at once.
He approached Farpoint Station. There was nothing wrong there, no
distress signal, no interruption in space before getting there.
His new second in command reported some strange happenings at
Farpoint, but the leader of the station passed them off when
questioned and Picard left the station without another thought.
Two days later, they received word via subspace that the station
and the planet and every living creature on it had been destroyed
by an entity or entities unknown. They were to be on the look-out
for a new superweapon which could crack a planet without any of the
traces which previous weaponry would have left behind and with a
ship no instrumentation could detect.
And Picard felt a strange sense of guilt that he didn't, couldn't
understand.
And then time was falling forward and they delivered medical
supplies to a planet badly in need of them and lost some lives and
saved some lives and Picard felt something was missing but couldn't
place what. It didn't seem to matter very much. And they *had*
carried out their mission successfully after all.
Time continued to bat him forward like a ball as they evacuated
Bre'el IV to save it from its moon falling on it, and its people
wept as some of them lost the only homes they'd ever known. He
wished he could save them, but there was nothing anyone could do
about a moon; it was not in the Federation's power to alter such a
basic natural constant as gravity.
And the Federation met for the first time a deadly unstoppable
force known as the Borg, who took Captain Garrovik and made him
into their leader known only as Locutus now, and used him and his
knowledge of the Federation's strengths and weaknesses to defeat
Starfleet at Wolf 359. And Picard was there, doing the only thing
he could in that crushing defeat, sending the self-destruct order
to destroy his crippled ship so that none of the wounded remnants
of his crew would face the ultimate horror of being assimilated by
the Borg.
And then he was dead.
****
Picard laid there for a very long time. He knew where he was. He
could feel the sun, hot on his skin, could hear the careless
laughter of children from the beach, but he didn't care. He could
only lie there.
He had died, and his death had been meaningless.
"Is that the way it really would have happened?" Picard finally
managed to get out, his throat clogged and hoarse.
"I suppose I could construct a pleasing fantasy for you, Jean-Luc,
but I really don't see the point."
Even though he had fully expected to hear Q, fully expected that Q
would be there, Picard still felt a rush of relief. It hadn't
happened that way. Things were back to normal. "What *was* the
point then? What were you trying to get across to me? Was this
some object lesson in how much I need you, Q, and how grateful I
should be that you've continued to dog my steps all these years?"
"Nothing of the sort," Q said offhandedly. "You asked to never
have met me, and I granted your wish."
"But *why*, Q? Why this business of the wishes in the first
place?" Picard opened his eyes and looked at him. Q was seated on
his own chair now, stretched out, the young woman he'd been toying
with earlier nowhere in view.
"Shall we say I feel I owe you something, Jean Luc?" Q said, manner
a little more somber now.
"For what?"
Q hesitated over the words. "For my becoming a Q again, of course.
What else could it be?"
"I have no idea," Picard said. He felt very old and very tired.
"You're not going to leave until I make the other two wishes, are
you?"
"No."
"Very well, then."
"Yes? You'll play?"
"It doesn't seem that I have much choice, now does it?"
"You always have a choice, Jean-Luc," Q said soberly.
"Yes, to play your way, or not at all."
Q grinned suddenly. "I think you're beginning to like me!"
"No, I'm beginning to *know* you. There's a difference." Picard
looked over at Q, and then laid back down, closing his eyes. He
needed some time in the sun here to bake the shadow of death that
had fallen over him during the visit into alternate reality that Q
had granted him. "I'll think of something."
****
When Picard opened his eyes again, he realized that he had fallen
asleep. It was night now, although a warm one. He still didn't
know where they were, but it had to be full summer. It couldn't be
this warm otherwise.
He sat up, and the blanket that had been placed over him fell back.
"How thoughtful," Picard murmured and then looked over to the other
lounge chair for his companion.
It was empty.
Picard felt momentarily bereft, then entirely lost, as he realized
how vulnerable he was here. He didn't know where he was or if he
was even in his own universe. With Q, anything was possible.
But then, down closer to the water, he saw a fire, and people
there. A faint thread of laughter drifted up to him, and Picard
firmed his chin. He didn't know what was going on, but he wouldn't
find out anything more by just sitting there.
Bravely, the former Starfleet captain who had faced down hostile
ships ready to kill ventured down to the party as though the people
there were a bunch of wild beasts ready to tear him apart.
****
Picard found Q on the beach, surrounding by a chanting crowd, doing
the limbo. "Q! What is the meaning of all this nonsense?"
Q didn't seem to hear him, bending nearly complete backwards as he
went under the pole. He made it under and came up, face flushed,
smiling at Picard. "Nonsense? Everyone here is having fun.
Remember that concept? Very dimly perhaps?"
"Why did you put me through that experience?" Picard said in a low
voice, a dangerous edge to his tone. "What are you trying to gain
out of causing me to relive my past?"
"You certainly wake up grouchy." Q collapsed on the sand next to
Picard, looking at him with a curious expression on his face.
"What makes you think this is all about you? All I wanted was for
you to have fun. I offered to give you anything, anything at all,
and you *chose* to live out those particular experiences, although
I can't imagine why. You could have had sheer pleasure, could have
had wealth." He looked at the partygoers. "Everyone else is
enjoying themselves. You're the only one who can't let go and have
a good time."
Picard looked around Q at the people by the fire. They *did* seem
to be enjoying themselves, but it wasn't the kind of enjoyment
Picard could ever have joined in. "You don't know what you're
talking about. Of course I know how to have a good time..."
"Prove it."
"How? By engaging in this kind of ridiculous display? Public
drunkeness and silly contests?"
"Yes."
"Q, isn't this beneath your dignity or something?"
"Oh, Jean-Luc, how absolutely precious of you to worry about *my*
dignity." At the moment, Q didn't seem to be displaying much of
that quality, lying half-collapsed in the sand, wearing a pair of
Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt lettered, "Omnipotent beings do it
anywhen they want." He was leaning on one arm and seemed to have
acquired a tan somewhere during the day. "However, I do believe I
recall hearing a 'Yes' somewhere in there."
"Q, no..."
"Ah, ah, ah." Q shook his finger warningly at Picard. "Don't try
to go back on a promise to me. I *heard* you. You clearly agreed
to prove you knew how to have a good time."
"This is *not* my idea of a good time!"
"Then tell me what it is. Make a wish out of it, and I'll make it
happen."
Picard saw where this was leading and instinctively recoiled.
There was something in him that did not want to submit to Q,
something that made his automatic reaction be one of denial.
Q rolled his eyes with disgust and laid back in the sand. "I could
leave you here for fifty *years* and you wouldn't learn anything
about having fun."
"Hardly surprising. In fifty years, I'd be dead."
"Can you tell the difference now?" Q asked sarcastically. "I found
you lying in the dark with the covers pulled over your head like a
scared child. How *very* lively of you. If there'd been someone
*in* the bed with you, I might almost have forgiven you."
"In the bed..." Picard seemed a little stunned by that alternative,
but recovered himself. "Q, this is my wish, and if I'm going to
use it at all, I'm going to do it in my own way and you're going to
have to accept it."
"Oh, Jean-Luc, I love it when you get rough with me."
Picard glowered for a moment, then gave up on it. No use beating
a dead horse. Or a recalcitrant Q. "I wish to have a day of peace
and quiet, with you nowhere around."
"Oh, that's so boring," Q said. "Exactly what you were doing
before, and all you were doing then was moping around. That's not
fun at all."
"After this, it'll practically seem like a vacation," Picard
muttered under his breath.
"Do let me make it a little more interesting for you," Q said, eyes
glinting.
"No, please..."
But it was too late. Q snapped his fingers, and the beach and
everyone on it disappeared.
****
He was in a museum of some sort. The marble halls and the
paintings on the walls made that quite evident. He wasn't sure
which museum it was, but Picard suspected that it was most likely
the Louvre. It was easy enough to check on that, and he picked a
direction and started walking, intending to find out where he was.
"Jean-Luc!"
It was Beverly's voice. He turned, and looked at her, forcing a
small smile of greeting. While he normally enjoyed her company,
there was no one he wanted to see less right now. Not only was her
presence a painful reminder of what he had endured with the Borg,
but it also meant that she was caught up in this little game of
Q's, and that he liked not at all.
"Hello, Beverly. So nice to see you."
She cocked her head. "Don't you remember? We were meeting here to
start our tour. I'm looking forward to it. I've always liked the
Impressionists, and to actually see Giverny..."
Picard thought she looked rather happy, and felt disappointed that
he couldn't share in her good mood. This was all a setup by Q. On
the other hand, visiting the French countryside with a good friend
was hardly what he would have considered torture. "Oh, yes. You
caught me at a bad moment. I was daydreaming."
"Really? You'll have to tell me all about it." She tucked her
hand in the crook of his arm and strolled off with him.
****
After a long day of sightseeing and soaking up culture, Picard was
brought back to the beach where it had all began.
The fire had died down now, and Q was sitting beside it, poking at
the embers with a stick. The people were long since gone, and he
and Picard were alone there, in the pre-dawn stillness.
"That was... unexpected, Q," Picard said, standing there. He had
almost enjoyed himself, was almost able to forget the shadow
hanging over him. And he had been quite surprised that their
little sojourn had not been interrupted by any further pranks or
nonsense.
"I told you, I've given you three wishes," Q said peevishly. "Why
can you ever believe me? Trust me, I'm very good at this god
stuff."
"I believe I'll reserve my trust for now," Picard said drily,
coming over to sit next to Q on a log. This wasn't over yet. He
had one wish left, and he was still at Q's whim, waiting to find
out how the game would be played out.
They sat there in silence for a long moment, only the crash of the
waves as backdrop, with Q still poking the dying fire.
Finally, Q asked, "Are you simply incapable of having fun? I gave
you what you asked, and you're still moping around. What's wrong
with you?"
Picard sighed heavily and looked out at the ocean. "You know
what's wrong as well as I do."
Q snorted, then intoned in a sepulchral voice. "I am Q of Borg.
You will be assimilated. But first, a little light music."
Picard didn't laugh. "Something like that, yes." He sat there,
the sound of the wind and the waves in his ears, their utter
aloneness and solitude here underlined by that constant roar.
"All I want is to forget," Picard said finally, very softly,
sitting by the dying fire and looking out at what he could see of
the dark, rolling ocean. He didn't turn to look at his companion,
didn't want to know what Q thought of his anguish over something
which was undoubtedly a trivial matter to Q. "It... I can't
relinquish the experience. I don't question the rightness of what
happened to me..."
His throat closed for a moment and he swallowed hard. Not anymore,
at any rate. Not like a little child demanding to know why bad
things had to happen to *him*.
"...but the memories..." He swallowed hard again. How it had
felt, being kidnapped, marched off to an unknowable fate... He
would have fought harder then if he had known what was coming,
would have resisted with everything in him. But by the time he had
known, it was too late. He had been taken over, and his body, his
very *mind* had no longer been his own. And he had, as Locutus,
all the memories of having destroyed Starfleet vessels, of having
been part of killing his own people, of causing the kind of
devastation he couldn't live with himself for having allowed to
occur. It was almost better than he have died in an attempt to
escape the Borg than allow himself to be assimilated, or at the
very least, to have fought harder, to have *tried* to resist...
Picard sat there for a very long time before speaking again,
listening to the waves washing tirelessly against the beach. "I
wish I didn't have to live with the pain of those memories."
"Granted," a quiet voice said from somewhere to the side of him.
****
And then he was lying in his bed again, and it was dark. The book
he had been reading was lying on the nightstand, and the vase was
sitting there, miraculously unbroken.
A shadowy figure was bending over him, and Picard still had enough
of his self-possession left to ask, "Q?"
"Sssh... Sleep," a gentle voice said, and Picard found himself
unable to resist, sliding down into an undisturbed slumber, a
feather soft caress brushing across his forehead as the world went
black.
When Picard woke, it was with the sense of having had an
extraordinarily vivid dream that *meant* something to his life, but
whose details he could not recall. For the first time in many
days, he felt like getting up, felt a sense of purpose, of
*meaning* in life that had been absent for so long. The day seemed
full of possibility.
He took in a deep breath and smiled. Obviously coming back home
had done wonderful things for his health. He couldn't quite
remember why he had been so upset by what the Borg had done to him
-- it was awful, but it was over and now he was going on with his
life. Which was as it should be. Life was about living, after
all, not lying in the dark wishing it would all go away.
-the end-